the girl in red

xxi. bad moon rising

Thursday, January 8th, 1976

Lafayette, Indiana

Snow was piled on the windowsill, obscuring the view and scattering golden rays that barely peeked over the train tracks. It was strikingly cold in the small room, and Dimitra wouldn't be surprised if she started to see her breath. It didn't bother her, but it was odd. Yet, her Alice Cooper record still spun on the thrift store player as she pulled open a stuck closet door. The little metal knob was icy to the touch, and she immediately stuck her left hand into the pocket of her pajama pants. Hangers rattled against each other, each a different neon color and made of the same plastic, as she shifted through shirts and jackets. Her hand stopped on a long-sleeve henley, threads dark green, and she grabbed the hanger off the rack and slipped it on her bare torso. She didn't put on a bra beforehand, she knew she'd be wearing a jacket all day. And if she had to take it off at some point, she'd simply have to deal with it.

Her body moved instinctively as the chorus to Welcome to My Nightmare started up, and she hummed slowly. She turned the volume up when she reached the dresser, carefully pulled open the jeans drawer, and grabbed a pair of high-waisted, dark blue jeans. She shucked off her pajama pants and tossed them aside. The jeans were quickly slipped on to fight the cold, shielding goosebump-covered skin. The henley was tucked into the jeans and she slipped a braided leather belt through the loops. They were her most flattering pair of jeans, the top hugging her waist just below the curve and bringing out what shape she did have. Her near-hourglass shape was credited solely to wide, bony hips and strikingly prominent ribs. And a small waist was the result of little food. Judith did say she was blessed, though, but she didn't believe it.

She sat down at her vanity, the wooden chair groaning under her. The mirror shakes when one of the chipped drawers is pulled open, revealing brushes and hair ties. Dimitra grabs a bright yellow comb and runs it through the ends of her hair, her face twisting with every knot the plastic gets caught on. A hair tie is fished out next and she pulls her hair tight against the nape of her neck before wrapping the black band around her hair. It barely fit around twice, her hair too full for it.

A small jewelry box is grabbed from the right of the mirror and the chipped lid is popped open. A silver ring stared up at her from its little cushion and she slipped it onto her pointer finger, fitting snugly against the skin just under her knuckle. A dainty cross necklace follows, the chain long and the charm falling just between her breasts. She stands, then, just as the record quieted on her dresser. The vinyl is put back into its case before the bedroom door is pulled open with a creak. Alina passed by as she stepped out, narrowly avoiding the door, and she muttered a quick good morning before disappearing into her and Judith's shared room.

Dimitra waved and closed the door with her hip. The stair rail was cold under her fingers, the heater yet to kick in, and her fingernails scraped the surface as she skipped down the steps. Dima looked over the couch, lowering his newspaper just barely.

"Good mornin'," he greeted, his smile small.

Dimitra smiled, "Morning."

Maxim smiled up at her from the kitchen counter, but Dimitra smiled at the sight. He stood behind Annika, who sat on one of the bar stools. Her hair was wrapped in his fingers as he braided it down her back, not a single strand sticking out.

"Would you look at that? Maxim Kuznetsov: master braider," Dimitra said as she neared, waving her hands around her to emphasize her point.

Annika grinned up at her, nearly pulling a strand from Maxim's fingers before he scolded her. "Keep moving and you'll rip your own hair from your scalp."